Restrained
by elbcw
Summary: The first time the lash hit him was a shock. He had expected a little preamble from the men, but they seemed keen to get on with their entertainment. Aramis gasped, pain radiated out from wherever the thin knotted leather straps had struck his back and side. Several more blows were struck across his back in quick succession. He tried not to cry out, but he failed.


**Authors note: This is an expansion (although not a very long one!) to my Whumptober one-shot 'Restraints'. It is Aramis whump. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Restraint**

The fight was unexpected and was going to prove hard work.

They had been on the return journey from delivering two unfortunate prisoners of war to the Spanish borders. The men had complained bitterly the entire way, Aramis had been glad when they had concluded the handover. They received nothing in return, a goodwill gesture which felt hollow and pointless as they made their way back to Paris.

The gesture felt even more pointless now that they were facing down more men than they could practically deal with. Aramis knew they would not get out of the fight without one or more of their party being injured in some way.

He and Porthos had been passing the time teasing d'Artagnan about various things from his boots to his powder flask before Athos had glared at them. They had managed to remain silent for about thirty seconds before Porthos started to regale Aramis about his latest card games.

Despite the good-natured conversations they were all highly alert. The attack did not take them completely by surprise, but the number of men did. D'Artagnan was dragged from his horse before any of them could react. Porthos and Athos tried to fire their guns but were forced to take action when both of their horses were shot at causing them to rear up.

Aramis, who was furthest from d'Artagnan, could not help his fellow Musketeer due to being forced to fight his own battle. After managing to despatch one man with his gun he pulled his sword and fought a second from the relative safety of his horse. Kicking the man back a few steps he quickly dismounted and urged the mare away from the affray.

Returning his attention to the man in front of him he was a little surprised to find two more men had joined him. Knowing that his brothers were all busy with their own opponents Aramis had no choice but to get stuck in.

The men, one small and old, one tall and skinny, and one plump and ugly were trying their hardest to disarm him. None of the men were trained but fighting off three enthusiastic men was not easy.

Aramis knew he would have to kill the men. There were just too many men attacking the four of them for them to be able to overpower them rather than it be the other way around. They would have to thin the men out a little. Trying to render an opponent less of a liability was harder than killing them outright.

Much to his chagrin, a fourth man joined the three who were already giving him a hard time. The fourth man was a little older than himself and was good with the sword, he held it correctly for a start and he knew how to position his feet. This fourth man was trained, unlike the other three.

Aramis had no time to glance at his brothers, he had to concentrate completely on the men in front of him.

The tall skinny man tried to thrust his sword into Aramis, he easily dodged the move but in doing so became at the mercy of the ugly man and the old man who worked together to force Aramis back several yards.

Aramis knew he was in trouble but could not spare the breath to shout for help. Although he had no idea if any of his brothers would be able to help him anyway. He had no idea how many men each of them was facing.

He was just about able to keep the men back to prevent them getting a lucky strike in, but he could not go on the offensive.

The men forced him back a little further, enough that he could not see his brothers any longer even if he wanted to.

The choice of trying to see the others was denied him completely a few seconds later when a fifth man hit Aramis on the back of the head, sending the Musketeer crashing to the ground. Unable to fight any longer.

MMMM

Porthos swiftly sidestepped a poor thrust from the terrified youth in front of him. He had reached the conclusion that the two men, barely more than boys, were regretting their choice to fight together. They were both clearly malnourished and stood no chance against a fully trained soldier.

When a third man joined, Porthos did at least have to put in an effort. Until that point, he had wanted to overpower the young men rather than kill them, but the situation was quickly getting out of hand.

A glance around told him that the quicker he dealt with the three men the better. D'Artagnan was fighting with the two big men who had pulled him from his horse. Athos had ended up a few yards further along the road fending off three men and Aramis was being forced off the road in the other direction by four men. Porthos new that Aramis would not be able to hold out against four men over the untested terrain.

There were just too many opponents. The Musketeers were good and could hold their own generally, but when all the opponents attacked at the same time seemingly without care for their own people, it became a problem.

The untrained men were just as much of an issue as the trained ones in such circumstances. Porthos pushed one of the young men away before engaging with the newcomer for a few seconds. The clash of steel rang out from all across the road, the odd yell from one of the attackers punctuating the noise.

The young man he had pushed away had managed to get back in the affray, using a rock he had picked up he tried to distract Porthos by throwing it at him. Without missing a beat Porthos grabbed the rock in the air and threw it back with enough force to knock the man back again. Porthos managed a grin at the youth before going on the offensive with the trained man whilst keeping the other young man at bay with his parrying dagger.

Ahead of him Athos appeared to have killed one of his opponents, as another ran off. Porthos wondered if the tide was going to turn in their favour.

MMMM

D'Artagnan had been shocked to be grabbed and dragged from his horse. The beast had protested as he accidentally kicked him as he was wrenched from the saddle. Almost immediately the two men were trying to beat him with their swords. D'Artagnan had no time to draw his gun, he ducked under a couple of strikes before pulling his sword and fighting back.

He was vaguely aware of Athos and Porthos trying to fire their weapons but being forced into quick dismounts when their horses were shot at first. The four horses had moved further up the road and were now waiting patiently for their masters to deal with the attack.

The men he was fighting were big. Both men, who d'Artagnan guessed were brothers, towered over him by several inches. He was glad he only had the two to deal with as their coordinated attack was making him work hard.

He was lucky to get a sword strike to one of the men who looked angry that he had been hit. D'Artagnan did not have time to enjoy the moment as the man's brother fought back twice as hard for a few seconds whilst the injured man composed himself.

D'Artagnan could see Porthos fending off three opponents, two boys and a man. Athos was busy with three men, one of whom was faltering and bound to be dealt with quickly. Aramis was the unlucky one, he had been forced off the road onto the rocky wooded area to the side. D'Artagnan was shocked for a second when he saw a man approach Aramis from behind. The oblivious Musketeer stood no chance, he was being forced to concentrate on the men in front of him. The new man hit him hard on the back of the head.

One of the tall men managed to kick d'Artagnan in his moment of distracted worry. D'Artagnan had to force himself to concentrate. He could not help his brothers if he was injured. The kick had forced him back a few feet, but he quickly regained his footing and fought back with renewed urgency.

Dodging to the left of a particularly brutal swipe of the injured man's sword d'Artagnan was about to reciprocate when the men stopped fighting him and tore off over the road.

Stunned, d'Artagnan could only watch them go.

MMMM

Athos pulled his sword from the chest of the unfortunate man in front of him, he was ready for the reaction of the other men, ready for them to attack him hard. Athos was not ready for the men to run away. He watched them go with confusion. The men had the upper hand. They could easily have worn the four of them down.

Why had they run away?

Athos turned to see equally confused expressions on both Porthos and d'Artagnan's faces.

After a couple of seconds d'Artagnan started to run in the direction the men had disappeared, stopping a few yards from the road, he bent down and picked something off the ground.

Aramis' hat.

'What happened?' said Porthos as he walked passed Athos towards d'Artagnan. 'Where is he?'

D'Artagnan was looking in the direction the men had gone.

'I think they took him-'

'What?!'

'He was fighting four men, and another came up behind him and knocked him out. I couldn't get to him. I'm sorry, there were just too many of them.'

Athos watched Porthos' expression soften slightly, 'I'm not blaming you...we were all dealing with more than we could cope with...Do you think that was their goal? To take one of us captive?'

Athos was watching in the direction that the men had gone, taking their unfortunate brother with them. He turned back to the others.

'It is the only explanation. But I'm not sure what they think they are going to gain. We have nothing to give. He had no intelligence they could beat out of him. No one will pay a ransom for us. They are on a fool's errand.'

'Trouble is,' said Porthos with a sigh, 'they don't know that. What are they going to do to Aramis in the meantime?'

MMMM

He slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was an angelic face. Angelic apart from the crack that ran across the face marring its beauty. The eyes stared straight ahead, at him.

Aramis blinked, when he opened his eyes again the face continued to stare at him. He turned his head slowly and saw a cross, high above on a stone wall. He realised he was lying on the stone floor of a church. A church which appeared to have been abandoned for some time. A slight breeze from a hole in the roof moved the decaying leaves that had entered the same way around a little.

Aramis tried to remember how he had got to where he was. He slowly moved his hand to rub his head. He guessed the cause of his unconsciousness was a blow to the back of the head. He could feel a lump but found no blood on his hand when he pulled it back to look.

He shifted to lie on his back, unable to stop a groan as he did so. Muscles throughout his body hurt. Another few guesses led him to conclude he had been roughly carried to the abandoned church by whoever had hit him.

Aramis' musing were cut short when he was grabbed by unfamiliar hands and pulled up to stand, held tightly between two men. He tried to pull away for a second before he was more occupied fighting nausea from the sudden movement.

As he was pulled up, he realised he was missing his doublet and shirt. He could not hide a shiver. The air around him was cold and he had been lying on cold stone. The fact that his shirt had been taken from him did not bode well.

With an effort, he managed to focus on the men who were holding him and the man who was stood in front of him. Other men were scattered around the church, but he was not sure how many of them there were.

He recognised the man in front of him as a few memories of what had happened came back to him. There had been a fight, there had been too many men. They were struggling. He had known they would not come out unscathed. The man in front of him was one of the ones he had fought.

How had he become separated from the others? Had he gone off on his own? He must have done, and then been overwhelmed and taken.

Aramis realised he must have put himself in danger and consequently his brothers. He knew they would not abandon him. If they were still alive - he prayed they were still alive - they would look for him. By going off on his own he had put them in danger.

The man in front of him was grinning. The man was one of four that he had fought. The man who was grinning was the last one to join the others. He had been the one that totally tipped the balance away from Aramis. He had stood little chance against the four men. Although he could not work out how he had been knocked out. Had he fallen?

'It's good to see you awake, my friend,' said the man. 'We were hoping you would join us. It would not have been as much fun without you awake.'

Aramis did not respond, he did not think he was required to.

'We have a simple proposition,' said another man.

This man was short and ugly, he seemed familiar as well.

'Tell us what you know, we want information we can sell. We have a contact who will pay well for information. Then we will let you go. Simple.'

Aramis continued to remain silent.

'If you do not tell us anything, we will flog you...to make sure you really don't have anything to tell us.'

The ugly man stepped back a few paces to a long table that would have stood along the wall of the church. On the table Aramis could see the remains of a meal, plates scattered across its length. Also on the table, lay his clothing and weapons. One of the men, sat at the table, was fiddling with his guns, his no doubt greasy fingers leaving smudges on the pristine weapons.

The ugly man picked up a vicious looking lash. Long thin leather straps with knots along the lengths were gathered together at a short handle. The man moved the lash about a bit, the tendrils swooping ominously through the air.

Aramis watched the action with trepidation, although he hoped he was hiding his fear.

'My friend,' said the ugly man his grin just making him uglier, 'I hope you have considered your response. You are a soldier, a Musketeer no less. You must be party to interesting information. You'd be surprised what we can sell, my friend.'

Aramis watched the lash being swung through the air a few times before looking at the man.

'I have nothing I can tell you. We had no intelligence when you attacked us. And anything else I might know, I will not be telling you...not that it would be worth anything anyway.'

'You would like to be flogged?' asked the other man, the man who knew how to use a sword.

'No. But I really have nothing I can tell you…'

The two leaders looked at each other for a second. Aramis was convinced he saw the ugly man give the other a knowing smirk. He got the distinct impression he had given them the answer they wanted to hear. He guessed that the men were not interested in getting information really. He guessed they just wanted a soldier to beat. A soldier to kill?

Had the men seen the four of them and, knowing that the soldiers would have been trained to endure torture, decided just to capture one of them purely for their own entertainment?

MMMM

It had not taken them long to track the men. They had been forced to secret themselves a short distance away. They were lucky, or perhaps unlucky to be able to see into the church through a large broken window, shards of stained glass framing the unfolding story within.

They could see Aramis being held firmly between two men. He had tried to resist them briefly before stopping, his skin was ashen. Athos could tell his captured brother was suffering from the blow to the head, he looked unfocused. He had been stripped of his doublet and shirt which meant they could see bruises forming on both his arms where he had been manhandled after his capture. Otherwise, Aramis looked unharmed. But it was clear that was about to change.

One of the men, an ugly looking short man was brandishing a lash which he was whipping through the air every so often as he and another man spoke to Aramis. Aramis was responding occasionally and shook his head at the men slowly.

Athos had to grab Porthos when the men holding Aramis dragged him around, it was clear to them all what was about to happen.

Porthos tried to pull away before looking back at Athos who shook his head and nodded to their left. Porthos followed his gaze. D'Artagnan was already creeping across to the two guards he had spotted.

Athos released Porthos when the Musketeer understood why they could not rush in to prevent Aramis being hurt. If the men were tipped off to their approach they would have time to prepare themselves. The Musketeers would still be outnumbered, they needed the element of surprise if they were to get their comrade back alive.

Porthos moved off after d'Artagnan.

Athos glanced back through the window. He watched as Aramis was pushed face first into the opposite wall. He was resisting the men but could not prevent his wrists being strapped tightly and attached to hooks on the wall. Aramis' arms were stretched almost taught, he had very little movement. He would not be able to escape the wicked looking lash when it was employed against him.

The original furnishings of the old church had provided the men with what they needed to pin their captive to the wall in preparation for the torture they were about to put him through.

A soft yelp to his left had him return his attention to d'Artagnan and Porthos. Porthos had his arm tightly around one of the lookouts necks. Whilst d'Artagnan had his hand over the other man's mouth smothering the dying sounds he was making as the dagger in his chest was pulled out. The Musketeers lowered the dead men to the floor and quietly returned to Athos' side.

A cry of pain made all three men look back towards the church mesmerised for a few seconds as the ugly man drew back the lash and deployed it across their brothers back several times in quick succession.

MMMM

Aramis wondered if they would forgive him. He had rushed in, not thinking. And now he was about to pay for his lack of restraint. He wished he could remember what had made him act as he had. One moment there had been a fight, the next he was in the old church. Why had he allowed himself to get caught? He should not have gone off on his own.

The ugly man tightened the strap around Aramis' right wrist, all the time sneering at him. Aramis stared back as defiantly as he could. As the man moved behind him to tighten the other strap Aramis could not help looking at the lash the man held. It was dangling loosely in the man's hand, the tendrils trailing on the ground.

The original fittings of the church provided useful hooks. The position he was in was uncomfortable, but Aramis knew that would pale into insignificance compared to what was to come.

There had been no further attempts by the men to extract information from him. Aramis knew now the men had intended to lash him if he had given them information or not. He also knew, once they had finished having their fun, they would kill him. He tried to pull at the straps holding him against the wall. The man had tightened them to the point that he was already starting to lose the feeling in his hands, his arms hurt, stretched out and slightly upwards. Aramis decided he was generally miserable. And it was about to get worse.

He could hear the ugly sneering man making a few practice swings with the lash. A couple of the other men chuckled. He heard a thud as a wine bottle was put back on the big table behind him. His weapons were on that table, thought Aramis, so tantalisingly close, but utterly useless.

The first time the lash hit him was a shock. He had expected a little preamble from the men, but they seemed keen to get on with their entertainment. Aramis gasped, pain radiated out from wherever the thin knotted leather straps had struck his back and side. Several more blows were struck across his back in quick succession.

He tried not to cry out, but he failed.

MMMM

When they had watched Aramis being pushed into the wall and strapped there, at the mercy of the men who had taken him, Porthos would have rushed forward on his own, if Athos had not stopped him. Of course, Athos was right. The guards needed to be dealt with first.

He and d'Artagnan had silently despatched the men. Porthos had no problem killing the man. The men had tried to kill them and were now torturing an innocent man.

They had dropped the dead men to the ground and returned to Athos side. A pained cry from Aramis and the sound of the lash whipping through the air several times had all of them pause.

The ugly man seemed to enjoy the pain he was inflicting on his captive Musketeer. The other men, who were dotted about the church watching were encouraging the man. The men were not demanding answers to any questions. They were not interrogating Aramis, it was obvious their only goal was to cause pain to a man who could not fight back.

'Circle around the other way, we need to be sure there are no other men watching,' Athos said to d'Artagnan who nodded once before moving away.

Athos turned to Porthos, 'I will circle the other way, go to the door, find out if it is bolted or locked in some way...do not go in there until we are there.'

Athos held Porthos' gaze for several seconds before he seemed satisfied that the Musketeer would not rush in. Porthos understood Athos' worry, but he would restrain himself. He would not put himself in danger in a failed attempt to rescue his brother despite every fibre of his being screaming at him to do so.

As Athos moved off Porthos made his way to the door. He peered at the big heavy looking wooden door. It was starting to rot at the hinges but was otherwise still sound in its construction. He gently pushed at the handle. The door moved a couple of inches. Porthos quickly grabbed the handle to stop it moving any further. He did not want the door to swing open before they were ready to rush the men.

It was remiss of the men to not leave anyone guarding the unlocked door. Porthos wondered if, now that Aramis was the centre of attention, any guard that had been on the door had been distracted. With a sick feeling, Porthos knew that Aramis was causing the very distraction they needed to rescue him.

He listened to the lash being deployed a few more times. Aramis had continued to cry out in pain each time the implement hit him. Porthos winced in sympathy. When, not if, when they freed Aramis he would be in considerable pain for some time. He would also be lucky not to get an infection in the wounds. All they would be able to do would be to keep the wounds clean.

Athos appeared at his side, Porthos indicated to him that the door was open. Athos nodded and went about checking his gun was primed and ready and that his sword was in an optimum position for the fight they knew was to come.

D'Artagnan appeared a few seconds later sheathing his sword, he was panting.

'One more guard,' he whispered. 'I dealt with it.'

Porthos nodded his approval, he looked at Athos who nodded that he was ready.

They paused, taking a breath. Aramis cried out in pain from within the church.

'Now,' said Porthos firmly as he pushed the door open wide.

MMMM

They burst through the door, Porthos had his gun already aimed in the direction where they knew Aramis was being held. D'Artagnan new that Porthos had hit the man with the lash. Porthos was not going to miss the man who had been assaulting their brother so callously.

Porthos yelled Aramis' name. D'Artagnan wondered if their injured brother was still aware enough to understand that he was being rescued.

A man rushed towards him, d'Artagnan raised his gun and fired, the advancing man dropped like a stone. D'Artagnan paid the man no further attention, he moved on to the next two men who advanced on him.

Much as he would have liked to look over to where Aramis was, d'Artagnan could not spare the time. He had no idea what state his brother was in.

The two men who were trying to get the better of him were untrained. He recognised one of them as the man who had run away earlier in the day. The men were attacking him in tandem but did not seem to be aware of what they were each doing. D'Artagnan used their lack of cooperation to his advantage. He allowed one of the men to get closer to him. The man clearly thought he was in with a chance of beating the Musketeer. He swung his sword in what should have been a killing blow. D'Artagnan ducked down, the sword swooping over his head. With his free hand, he pushed the man to the side, straight into the other man's blade. The two men fell to the floor. D'Artagnan made short work of finishing off the second man.

As he pulled his sword free, he looked around. Porthos had yet to draw his sword, he was busy punching a man with his fist and pummelling a second with the butt of his gun. Athos was dealing with two men but appeared to have the fight under control.

Athos glanced at him and yelled a warning. D'Artagnan could not help a gasp of pain as he felt a blade slice across his right wrist before he could evade the swipe of a dagger. He quickly brought his main gauche up and into the man's gut. The man, who was trying to wrap his arm around d'Artagnan's neck, collapsed to the ground groaning.

Looking at the injury to his wrist d'Artagnan quickly assessed that it would require only cleaning and dressing, it stung but would not slow him down.

He became aware of a man edging towards Aramis, clutching the marksman's gun. D'Artagnan realised the man intended to threaten Aramis in an attempt to secure his escape. D'Artagnan grabbed his own gun from the floor where he had dropped it after firing it when they had first entered the church. With practised ease, he loaded and primed the weapon. None of the other men fighting noticed him raise the weapon.

The man who was creeping up to the unsuspecting Aramis glanced across at d'Artagnan. In a panic, he raised the gun aiming at d'Artagnan, but the Musketeer was quicker, and his aim was true. The man, his finger on the trigger as he was shot, fired the gun, the shot going wide of d'Artagnan embedded itself into the back of a pew. The man had no time to register his mistake as he fell to the ground, Aramis' gun falling from his grasp at the same time.

MMMM

Athos had quickly become embroiled in a fight with two men. The men, who were not bad in their sword work were keeping him busy. He had managed to injure one of the men quickly, but the injury was not enough to put him out of the fight. What it had done was make the man's hand slick with blood, his sword was slipping frequently. Athos bided his time, allowing the man to become distracted by the injury before plunging his main gauche into his chest. Unable to retrieve the dagger Athos continued to fight the other man with just his sword.

Glancing around he spotted a man about to attack d'Artagnan, who had just killed the men he had been fighting. He yelled a warning, d'Artagnan was not quick enough to move out of the way completely. He heard d'Artagnan gasp in pain. D'Artagnan recovered quickly and dealt with his attacker. He saw the Musketeer look at the injury for a few seconds before carrying on with his own fight. The injury was obviously not serious, but Athos made a mental note to ensure the young man tended to it when the affray was over. It would do none of them any good to be two men down.

Athos managed to glance across to Aramis who appeared to be trying to twist around to see what was happening behind him. The way he had been restrained meant the captured man had very little slack and could not move. Aramis would not know what was happening. Athos hoped his friend knew it was them fighting behind him but wondered if he would be in too much shock and pain to really register what was happening.

MMMM

Struggling to remain standing and not simply slump Aramis was brought to his senses by a gunshot. A familiar voice yelled his name.

Porthos.

But more than just Porthos, his other brothers were there as well.

Aramis could not twist around to see what was happening behind him without the action causing him pain. Three more gunshots were fired, and the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn and the clash of blade on blade rang out.

A fierce battle was being waged to his right, Athos, he guessed, perhaps fighting two men, his main gauche being used as much as his sword. Directly behind him, he heard a thud followed by a gurgled whimper. Porthos had probably not even got around to drawing his sword, he would be using the butt of his gun and his fists to start with, and whatever else came to hand. To his left, d'Artagnan was fighting someone who was good with a sword. But Aramis knew that d'Artagnan would be better, the young Musketeer, who was light on his feet and fought with a style reminiscent of Athos, but with his own adaptations would win out.

All Aramis had to do was wait. He listened. Aramis tried to remember how many men had attacked him. He tried to count them as they fell. He soon lost count. A few shouts from his brothers distracted him. The odd warning to one another, one cry of pain which worried him and then silence.

A silence that seemed to stretch forever.

Had something gone wrong?

Had his brothers lost?

Had there been too many men for them to take on?

Footsteps approached him. Aramis did not know who was behind him.

A hand touched his back, brushing against the injuries. The pain flared across his back and body consuming him completely, he gasped before the greyness that had been threatening him won out.

MMMM

'What did you do that for?' snapped d'Artagnan as he tried to support the collapsed Musketeer as Athos started to undo the straps keeping Aramis tied to the wall.

'Sorry,' said Porthos, the worry evident in his voice, 'I didn't think.'

When they had finished off the last man, a scrawny youth that Porthos had simply run through with his main gauche, they had paused for a moment looking around the old church to ensure they really had dealt with all of the enemy.

Porthos had approached Aramis and reached out and touched the injured man. D'Artagnan guessed Porthos intended to offer reassurance, but his intention had not worked. Aramis had gasped in pain and after a moment of tension had slumped unconscious.

D'Artagnan shook his head as he continued to hold onto their injured brother. Porthos stepped forward and started to work on the other leather strap. D'Artagnan could see Aramis' wrists were marked where he had pulled at the restraints.

'These are too tight,' said Athos after a few moments.

He bent down and pulled a narrow dagger from his boot before using it to slice through the leather. Once Aramis' right hand was free, he handed the blade to Porthos who repeated the move to free the Musketeer completely. Porthos helped d'Artagnan to carry the limp man across the abandoned church and lay him, face down, on the table after Athos hastily cleared the detritus out of the way.

'I'll get some water,' said d'Artagnan as he moved towards the door.

'You will deal with your own injury first,' said Athos firmly.

D'Artagnan looked at his wrist realising he had forgotten the wound in his hurry to help with Aramis. Porthos slapped him on the shoulder with a knowing grin as he made his own way out of the church for water.

As d'Artagnan quickly washed the cut to his wrist with water from a skin and wrapped a handkerchief around it he watched Athos inspecting their unfortunate brothers back.

'How bad is it?'

'Bad,' replied Athos grimly. 'He's going to be in pain and uncomfortable for days, weeks maybe.'

D'Artagnan looked around at the bodies that lay scattered around them.

'They just wanted one of us to hurt, didn't they?' asked d'Artagnan, although he did not expect an answer.

Athos sighed, 'some people have a strange idea of entertainment.'

MMMM

'Sor...ry…'

Porthos leaned forward as Aramis tried to repeat his mumbled word.

'What? Shh...don't try to move, it'll hurt you too much. Do you remember what happened?'

Aramis had been unconscious for some time. Porthos was glad that his friend had not woken as they had cleaned and dressed his wounds. He had hated having to manipulate the injured man so that they could cover the wounds with torn fabric.

Athos and d'Artagnan had disappeared to deal with the bodies and check the perimeter of the church grounds. They did not want to move Aramis, at least not until he had come around fully. Porthos had pulled up a heavy chair, probably the one the priest would have used during a mass and had been sat watching his friend carefully. They did not want Aramis to move around too much, worried that he would cause himself unnecessary pain if he did.

'I...went off,' mumbled Aramis.

'You went off? Where did you go off?'

Porthos wondered what his friend was talking about as he grabbed a refilled waterskin and held it to Aramis' lips. The injured man managed to take a few sips of the liquid before coughing a few times, screwing his eyes shut as he did.

As his breathing levelled out again Aramis managed to focus on Porthos.

'I went off...got caught...sorry.'

Porthos shook his head, he was about to speak but had to stop Aramis from moving instead. He gently pushed the pained man back flat on the table.

'Who was injured?' said Aramis. 'Do they need stitches?'

Porthos thought for a moment before he remembered d'Artagnan's slight injury.

'No, Aramis. None of us are injured. D'Artagnan has a scratch, that's all. You're the only one injured.'

'Don't know why I went…'

'You didn't have a choice-'

'Put you all...danger.'

Porthos watched as Aramis closed his eyes slowly and passed out. He leaned back in his chair wondering what his confused friend had meant.

'Was he awake?' asked d'Artagnan from behind him.

Porthos looked around to see d'Artagnan dropping a collection of dried sticks into a pile under the hole in the church roof. Athos had followed him in and was busy arranging the wood with kindling to make a fire.

'He's confused,' said Porthos. 'Kept apologising for going off on his own.'

'Going off on his own?' said Athos in between blowing on the kindling to encourage the flames to catch.

'Yeah, I think he thinks he did something stupid and got himself caught.'

D'Artagnan smirked, 'well it's not like he hasn't done that before.'

'He is not the only one of us to do something like that,' remarked Athos as he leaned back from the fire.

Porthos chuckled, 'I think he's the only one of us to apologise for it when he ain't actually done it.'

'Let us hope he is a bit more awake next time and we can assure him that he is not to blame for this,' said Athos.

MMMM

They took it in turns to sit with their injured friend. Aramis briefly came around a few times but not for long enough for any of them to get him to make any sense. Porthos had found a painkilling draught in Aramis' medical bag and had managed to get him to drink it. The effect of the painkiller meant that their friend slept a little better for a while.

Athos watched Aramis slowly open his eyes. He seemed focused, he looked at Athos who managed an encouraging smile.

'How are you feeling?'

'Hurts, a lot,' Aramis managed to say.

'We have no intention of leaving here until the morning. Porthos is quite insistent that you will be riding with him and that we will only be going as far as the nearest village.'

Aramis managed to glance around the ruined church, his eyes settled on d'Artagnan and Porthos, both of whom were asleep by the fire.

'Did I go off on my own?' asked Aramis.

Athos huffed out a laugh, 'Porthos said you were a little confused earlier. No, Aramis, this was not your own fault. There were just too many of them. You were overpowered, hit from behind, the decision was made for you.'

Aramis thought for a few moments, Athos wondered if he was trying to remember what had happened. He appeared to give up.

'They asked me for any information I might have. I told them I had none. They didn't even keep asking...when they were...hitting me.'

Athos sighed, remembering the sight of Aramis being lashed, 'we saw,' he said. 'We had to get rid of a few guards before we could attempt a rescue.'

Aramis nodded his understanding. Athos knew Aramis would not hold it against them for allowing the assault to happen.

'They just wanted someone to hurt,' stated Aramis.

'Yes,' agreed Athos, 'there are some evil people out there. And you were unfortunately on the receiving end of their warped sense of entertainment.'

Aramis closed his eyes for a few seconds, Athos thought he had passed out again before the injured man spoke quietly.

'Thank you for rescuing me,' he said.

'You are welcome. You would have done the same for any of us.'

The End.


End file.
